Best Annul Poems
All poets are dreamers and writers
Who weave life into verse and rhyme
Verse into heartfelt contemplations
The heart desires
Longs
For attention
A poet will expose himself to his great lengths
His ink shall flow like emotions dancing on a page
He may need to erase his thoughts, annul his dreams
Thus his pencil stands guard and erect
Love is erased with little effect
He scribbles his musings onto blank pages
Wondering if maybe the lass he so dreams
Will sit upon his pencil
Reading his very confessions of love
(for Michael Jackson and Karen Carpenter)
Dear my other one by the Gemini,
Shadows are a planet.
We live as shadows.
Therefore, we’re a planet. Love,
when striving for stars, it’s what we chose.
Winter charities and harsh summers solve
its problems by fall & spring or enteric
Paul and overcast Penelope. We’re life.
Shadows are life. But all shadows attack
its life source, to seek its meaning’s riff.
But, you leave as a condom or saint,
using this world for your answers, then
departing to hell’s or heaven’s quadrant.
Planets are love because we don’t know. We send.
We receive. We’re confused, but love. We seek.
We’re questions for answers’ birth, not its end.
Such as we lullaby childhoods’ wisdoms, we weep.
But, we should be shadows and planets,
as lovers---beyond God’s lands---Yes…un-asleep!
Why did you desire the omniscient?
Why annul our orbit of many questions?
Paul beheaded and weaving Penelope bent---
not broken. Oh my. Now, guitars are sins.
Violins are no longer constellations, Eve…
Please forgive this Adam’s heart’s terminus.
I dwindle from memories, thinking oversights.
Taking for granted mealtime smells and dance
within our misunderstandings, our blights.
So, I begin as Omega and work backwards.
My coffee swirls as shadows by my spoon’s spin.
The cup is the planet, and I weave forwards
to my life. Beheaded from the past, I leave thin
and thick with grief. This too will pass, here and now.
Shadow is planet; but death does not mean
good grief. It means goodbye as one can know.
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Today
Today
I noticed a small leaf float from the lush canopy and land on grass
then vanish to infinity
I sensed a primal need to amend outcome of events carried within
ominous clouds of ambiguity
I painted a virtual picture of tomorrow exorcizing enmity for amity
nestled amid spheres of possibility
I pondered a rational cause and effect of iniquitous acts as pivotal
moments silently succumb to anonymity
I aimed a magic dart at a wounded heart liberating its final breath
annihilating sufferings incurred from inhumanity
I tamed a wild squall then ask sky goddesses to remedy a tragedy
where naivete had awaken to a confounding dichotomy
I egged a crystal ball to right flawed perceptions of an alien entity
responding to hard unrelenting questions demanding clarity
I chased a black hole moving at the speed of light like gamma ray
driven by the force of weightlessness and in my being a nonentity
I dreamed a dream that annul obduracy making my visions reality
unveiling unknown horizons giving humanity a passage to eternity
I deemed a sleep did not befall; I was just imagining what may be
while sunbeams vanished during the most vital instants of the day
then planets skillfully danced with the night as stars wander freely.
Today...
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"Miniscule seeds planted as dreams...in every imaginable reality"
08/10/2022
2:28 P.M.
Aboard cruise liner:
Rhapsody of the Seas
Offensive
Bamboozling
Adulterous
Misgoverning
Anti-Capitalist
Odious
Blow hard
Arab
Muslim
Anti-American
Obnoxious
Back Biter
Abuser
Marxist
Anti - Christ
Oval Office
Brokered
Assault Rifles
Misleading
Americans
Open
Border
Allowing
Mass
Adulteration
Ordered
Benghazi
Ambassador’s
Murder
And 3 others
Oust
Barrak
America’s
Most
Atrocious
Oath
Broken
Assuming
Misanthropic
Autocrat
Oblivious
Bewildered
Abysmal
Myopic
Administration
Overthrow
Banish
Annul
Muzzle
Abolish
One more
Blunder
After
More and More
Atrocities
One
Big
Ass
Mistake
America
now that I have your attention, please read and comment
on my other pieces of work
Thank you
My soul rebuffs this show of selfless gain ,
Though my wages are higher than a few ,
I’m still encased in caves like an insane ,
As my reign as the head beclouds my view .
Ploughing other people’s farm for so long ,
Oblivious of time is full of deceit ,
Which in reality makes me change my song ,
My boss wants me to remain on this seat ,
But I need to annul this present state ,
Though many goodies attached at this time ,
To remain stagnant is not a good fate ,
Started this long ago ,when in my prime .
Alas! Now my muscles and bones are weak ,
Grey hairs emit from my skins with passion ,
Being in this cosmetic state makes me sick ,
As my mind detests and loves this fission .
Written: September 24, 2023
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In the dawn-like haze—a shriek was heard,
An echo so shrewd, yet birdless, oddly slurred
It was ordained by—a stratum unseen,
A throbbing coerce, a numen so keen.
A canticle flower—a bellow coarsely flung,
Through bosky drifts, those shadows clung.
The broken clavicle, brittle skull,
Doused in lacquer—a tale to annul.
Cried creative bone, from annals of time,
In a secluded hut—where lamina chime.
With guttural utterance—the gowk did sing,
Fluted notes on brinks of obsidian string.
Cloaked in the dimly lit mist, a canon of clamor,
Shaping the world with a mystic glamour.
In the glum of worship, a rite did splay,
As voices uttered—in a solemn display.
A corpse lay still, in the midst of the scene,
Dazzled by the entombing, a nebulous flesh serene.
Funerary hums—in syllabic verse,
Resonated through time, as a solemn curse.
In an urn—fugally adorned
With fugal melodies, the ashes were borne,
A symphony of sorrow, a requiem grand,
For the soul departed, to a distant land.
The misty air whispered—in mournful tones,
As the funerary procession made its way,
A solemn journey, through the mist, embrace.
To the final resting place, where shadows trace.
And so, the hum continued, a haunting refrain,
As the earth embraced the remains.
Silent and still—in eternal rest,
In the hallowed ground, the corpse was blessed.
Gone was the body, but the spirit remained,
A specter in the mist, forever ingrained.
A memory of life—a tale to be told,
In the echoes of time, where stories unfold.
In the depths of the mist, a legacy grew,
Of a life once lived, and the love that it knew.
The funerary hum—a reminder of grace,
As it carried the spirit to a heavenly place.
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY…
V
If ever I had a country
And if I were the Minister of Justice
I'd keep an open eye on covert fascist lechers
To arraign dodgers from witch sick woman's clutches
Who annul marriages the Holy See blesses
To mask her lewd tantrums in the Secret Services
That is, if ever I were the Minister of Justice
And even if I never had no country
VI
If ever I had a country
And if I were the Home Secretary
I'd make all secret files on all dignitaries
An open book on the art of rape incest or adultery
Pedophily sodomy perversity y compris
Not to mention lodge-keepers' skulduggery
That is, if ever I were the Home Secretary
And even if I never had no country
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2018
Found on a pedestal, or hold, loneliness bends to isolation.
For silent walls to speak so comfort, felt with validation.
Feel the waves of silence as apathy chills you to the bone.
Few relish in self-centredness, or a self-sufficiency cloned.
Imagine all the comfortless-ones lost in the system’s cracks.
Nothing is as crystal clear for deeper introspection’s facts.
Sorrow, the time you’ve taken, you’ll not be here tomorrow!
Loneliness makes awkward quirks of intentions so shallow.
Life dies inside when there’s no others willing to befriend.
A non-existing of self-worth which begins to condescend...
There’s no pleasure without communication for possibility.
Opaque gray clouds can permeate, hiding love’s true validity.
What good is skilful listening for loquacity, or laryngitis?
It's like slapping a bandaid over the colour of Yellow-Jondus.
Sadness comes when we're forsaken by those sadly threatened.
As empty fellowship declares to annul its claim to rescind.
ah, love, the lies thou speaketh now
tell tales upon thy character
of darkness hidden ’neath green eyes
and evil dripping from thy tongue
lay not beside me evermore
and proffer warmth of wanton flesh
which kens not truth of any sort
yet holds my soul as it were bound
from out this bed of dreary dream
and recollections far too sweet
oh, that the reaper, grim and cold
might whisk away this saddened wretch
to ride the waves of joyful bliss
upon some fiery comet’s tail
there cross ten thousand galaxies
far, far beyond thy fearful grasp
annul thee now thy sweet charade
the horrid truth of mirthless soul
entangled legs and arms belie
thy body’s feigned devotion here
I make them, I break them.
Every morning I declare them.
By night I annul them.
One of those I asserted solemnly to myself.
That I would not employ my thoughts to thyself.
This occasion I was triumphing at this hurl.
But the Perdedor in me decided to rise up,
When a friend of me inquired, “How is your girl?”
Now, I am doing the one thing that I said I wouldn’t do.
Not yearning for you is something that I couldn’t do.
To tell you what I miss the most about you, would take me forever.
It’s all of you that gave me the sweet fever.
I remember the time when you wore that gown.
Your hair did witchcraft of their own.
They knew how to entice me to my bone.
Like a vivacious goddess, in my eyes you shone.
I was an atheist but that was until I met you.
Since, you became my religion from the moment I had known you.
People imagine heaven is a place on earth, but to me it is in you.
And it begins from the dimples at the bottom of your spine;
A verity known to very few.
Every portion of thine beauty is what I crave to worship.
However, it is just the reminiscence that I so affectionately keep.
Each thing you did is engraved within me, very deep.
But it is mostly the excellence of you that I reap.
I feel your absence even when I’m not hazy.
Whether it be when I drink tea or when I want to be a little lazy.
Whether it be Alex’s sensual voice or when I simply see daffodils and daisy.
Whether it be our late night random silly conversations and fights—
Or is it me who has gone crazy?
The illicit flames of cajole will wane like an impetuous act of wind.
Annul with impervious aplomb
Waxing perspicacious avenues
Clearing the nebulous
The schism extricate judicious clarity
Vicarious envoy
Omnious stance
Intrinsic string of which I now belong accrues each dawn
Tenable apotheosis oracular
Aberrant paths engage in the light as the nocturnal recividist abated
The diaphanous window capitulated to alloy
Congential precedence gives prerogative by inveterate enigma
Tangible motif clings
Precarious simplicity carry ubiquitous propensity
Equanimity and audacity interchange
Swrod for Sword
Faux Pas to be no more
Impeccable prowess on inimitable wings
To be cognizant is to see
Rendezvous at the fete
Its adjacent to everything
Magnanimous in all things
Taciturn to the ludicrous
Anithetical of perdition
Verbatim by the imbued
Repertoire 9f the genesis
By Christy Teas
Just or unjust, they do as they must
The secretive sect of ANON
They live in a world, where truths are unfurled
Where justice is served, not undone
Just kids on a quest, to make their world the best
A time for renewal has come
Born out of sedition, in an act of contrition
In a world living under the gun
Trust no one no lover, no sister nor brother
To the whim of their will never bend
The youth lie beguiled, innocence defiled
The rules of play changed to their end
A PLANDEMIC cull, our lives they annul
As part of an old prophecy
The past Resident or the next P.R.esident
Are nothing but puppets you see
The proper recourse, stop plastics at source
Corporate heads know not shame
Sustainable growth has mankind by the throat
Corporations are never to blame
Quick for to revel, in a dance with the devil
C.E.O.’s climb on the rung
When those left to pay, will drown in dismay
In a world living under the gun
Profiteers will amass, mankind lashed to the mast
Stripped of their will and their verve
The luck of the dealers, unjust freedom stealers
Put themselves before those whom they serve
As illustrious leaders, peddlers and dealers
Repeating the sins of the past
The lay of their game, as always the same
Since the first day the die has been cast
The Bible of old, as Genesis told
Of hearts that are harder than stone
The Babylon Whore, and the wolves at your door
Will render your flesh from the bone
The time it has come, Armageddon unsung
The milk has been soured and curled
A New World in the making, the old one forsaken
Their Masonic flag lies unfurled
Duchess has Den, Lind's Empathetic Yen
Laughing with Casey gave "rise" to a fall,
Giving "urgery" to surgery,
We pray the setback is soon annul!
Sometimes when mishaps occur,
Causes appreciation in full,
When things stop working,
Face the horns of the bull,
Carpe Diem! Step back & reflect,
Refute descent, resaddle!
Read, think, thank, pray, sing,
May the Big One bless you ->"Troubles Skedaddle!"
THE MYTH CALLED BROTHER BERNARD
Brother Bernard is just a name
but a name that has saturated fame,
notoriety in Nigeria and it's the same
that evokes comical blunders.
Hope Bernard isn't one of your brothers.
Man dreams of a trip to Peru,
had a dream he was eating his shoe,
then woke up at night after a mouth-full,
as the call of "Brother Bernard" sails through
He finds out his dream had come true.
Yet, they say "Brother Bernard" is just a name.
Oh okay! Any dissimilar notion is just lame!
It's becoming a myth though just a name.
Brother Bernard is like a whistle in a game.
There's unanimity that everybody has a name;
Some are short, some are long.
Dick is a short name but can be strong,
Virginia is name-modified known agelong
and can never be ignored or go wrong.
If there's a name that has attained
realms of societal ridicule & is carelessly profaned,
then it's the mythical phrase "Brother Bernard".
No jury or advocate will annul "this" case.
Does the name create an unseen force?
Our people have caved their superstitions,
greatly influenced by Social Mediacians.
Some say "Brother Bernard is just a name"!
Methinks, that and other names ain't the same!
Though the meme didn't mellow, what a shame!
A fellow opined it is more than a name.
The empirical enquire the memes aim:
And entreat the source of your mythical claim"?
But...I pledge to relish in this euphoria, my lord,
bask in the blunders of the madness galore,
to seize the comical moments with my bare hand.
Revel in the emphatic mention of "Brother Bernard"!
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Rhymes
Copyright ©? 14th April 2023.
I am the supporting role
In an act that never ends
The part of an anxious soul
Fixing things that need no mend
And from this part I can't annul
Another's hand is not to lend
I am on my own, my lonely soul
In an act that never ends
As I take the stage that is this cage
This thought I can't control
How will I keep the crowd engaged
When I am just a lonely soul?
No feelings here to be gauged
The audience, it's filled with holes
Blocks of stone, this timeless age
For my youth it has been stole
For we are but weathered rock
Sand blown against our skin
For now we are just merely thoughts
In my head, blown with the wind
Time stands still when I watch the clock
On my face, a constant grin
On your face, the look of shock
Did you not expect that I'll surely win?
For I am solely a soul, and merely alone
What I want to find cannot be sought
All I need, to me has been shown
For my love cannot be bought